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Sad Patriotic Poems | Sad Poems About Patriotic

These Sad Patriotic poems are examples of Sad poems about Patriotic. These are the best examples of Sad Patriotic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? |

Chris Kyle the Great Sniper

Before you read this poem, I would like to invite you in reading about the great American sniper hero. I am also dedicating this to the fallen sniper because he is a true Patriotic Hero. Thank you.

Chris Kyle was and still is loved by many, this to be true I say
I always believe him to be, a great sniper to this undying day.
Why must things happen to people, that are always so kind
Life would be better keeping some, alive alongside mankind.

Why don’t I tell you a story, about this very kind honest fellow
He was and is an U.S. Navy Seal, but along that chill and mellow.
The most lethal sniper known of, in American military history
With a very high percentage confirmed kills, quite the victory.

At the young age of eight, his father taught him how to shoot
A great father teaching a son, instead of giving him the boot.
A bronco rider for the rodeo, sadly gave it up for a serious injury
It was to his arm although he still lived, with very great dignity.

Being a great sniper had an effect, putting souls to their bed
Eventually somewhat famous, an increasing bounty upon his head.
Undoubtedly dubbed the “Devil of Ramadi”, by non-other than Iraqi
An increasing bounty shot twice, but his body and will still intact.

After a while serving his country, he retired heading home graciously
Taking back some long spent  time, spending it with his family.
Chris Kyle a loved husband, a friend to many and a beloved son
His homeland now saddened, for America has lost a patriotic one.

A great warrior indeed, in my opinion our greatest honorable hero
He put his life on the line, instead of becoming the common zero.
The greatest treasure of all, came from within himself to prove
That all humans aren’t wrongful, but that we all can improve.

Copyright © Dalton A. J. Hunkler | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epitaph |

The Day the Eagle Cried

We will never forget exactly where we were, 
	We will never forget exactly what we were doing, 
		We could never forget the loss we felt – 9/11/01.

We saw the birth of amazing heroes,
	We mourned with the grief of thousands,
		We marveled at the strength of the human spirit.

It was the day we held our children more closely,
	It was the day the American Family was reborn,
		And the day we became “One Nation, Under God.”

We heard those resounding words, “A plane hit the tower”,
	We watched in disbelief as the second tower fell to earth,
		And we heard the most heroic of words, “Let’s Roll!”

There were so many lessons that we learned,
	There are so many memories to be held dear,
		There was “Old Glory” – still standing to give us hope.

Firemen, Policemen, Clergy and Civilians-
	Were taken from us in a few fleeting moments,
		We saw a flight of angels, and an Eagle cry.

We became the strongest and most formidable of enemies,
	The most united in spirit and purpose in decades,
		We were filled with renewed honor and pride.

Yes, we lost the very innocence of our being,
	We lost the complacency of everyday routine,
		But yet we gained so much more.

For now we know the true meaning of so many, many words –
	“Indivisible”, “In God We Trust”, “United We Stand”
    		and the most important of all -
			“Greater Love Hath No Man Than This”…

Copyright © Meridy Petricciolli | Year Posted 2005

Details | Epitaph |

John F Kennedy

John F. Kennedy 1917-1963 The great 35th president of US It wasn't really a success He tried to stop the missile bases There were lot of angry faces When there was about to be a war Peace was what he asked for Texas was the place he was shot Later, the criminal was caught He didn't survive the pain His people cried like the rain

Copyright © Heeju Kim | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

Love is a Sacrifice

You have my soul, but you have your fate Whatever your words, I’m willing to take You have my word; I’ll give you my breath It’s like a chain that would never be break You are my love with all my heart, I’ll fight for you with all my might. And in the way, you admire your goals, You hold my hands, but not so close. As you go to your chosen path, I’ll accept the fact that we will be apart. In the dark side, I leave behind Within my faith, that you’ll arise Please don’t look back, coz I’m fighting still I’m hurting so much! Don’t want to have you near I accept my fate for what it does, I’m bleeding so much, do you know for whom it was? You reach your goals, as you want to have, Would you remind the man that gave what he had? As you reach the stars, and be the one Be a sun that shines its own. After the rain, the rainbow comes, Like dark in the moon, when the light flash A glimpse from you at least a short For then I knew my pain is worth.

Copyright © Emmanuel Fajutagana | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

If Old Men Fought

An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight

Copyright © Mac McGovern | Year Posted 2010

Details | I do not know? |

3000 miles from 3am

You're 3000 mile away
its 6 am
I'm in my own bed
dead asleep
my phone rings
its 3am
but your voice could wake me from a coma
you're 3000 miles away
and its only 3am

Copyright © rachel blake | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

Good Morning, Apocalypse Now : A Tribute to a Vietnam Veteran

Untitled 5
(My Uncle: Good Morning, Apocalypse Now)

My uncle doesn't speak much
about Vietnam or the stuff
he witnessed when he 
was just a boy. See,
he likes to drive the back roads fast 
and honk at random cars that pass.
His friendly gestures always lead to how
he grew up compared to kids now. 

Jumping and racing trains on the tracks
became dodging bullets and carrying his buddy on his back.
The marshes and dirt valleys here
became the forests and trenches of the military frontier. 

Last year, my sister donned his jacket
a fatigued fatigue that hung in his closet. 
In color and memory darkened,
kept out of sight for fear it would harken
the PTSD he's stuggled to avoid. 

He saw his brothers, young like him
to Vietnam succumb
while on American soil
and he promised he would never speak,
for fear his stomach would coil, 
when remembering rice - a dish he no longer enjoys.
And there's no orange on his clothes to remind him of the agent that destroyed.

When he speaks a calm 
"Good morning", I wonder if he's thinking of Vietnam
or if he knows
that I admire his strength and 
bravery and how 
he continually fights against 
the "Apocalypse Now".

Copyright © Rachel Couvillon | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

Soldiers Girlfriend

I’m proud of the man in front of me

Dressed in his ACUs

But i miss the guy you use to be

Blue Jeans and your boots.

I miss the way you drive your truck

i miss the sweet soft stares.

I miss the man you use to be

I’m not sure hes still there

Copyright © rachel blake | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |


Your own computer, where they should not go,
'tis your own place, your Heaven or your Hell
All sacred are the words they should not know,
Nor spy upon, some things you'd never tell.

The scum of life know secrets to the lock,
They play among your bits, yes ev'ry byte.
And troubled nights, not sleeping like a rock
You'll laugh it off, as just imagined plight.

But know you well, conspiracies they thrive,
from cyberspace, they bring you false alarm,
Intimidation keeps their cause alive
Their snooping's meant to bring you naught but harm.

If you've uneasy feeling someone's there
Then know you well, they're with us ev'rywhere.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

War of this sad land

they practise their guns on the land of the innocence, 
these loathsome creatures wipe out the line of our army,
now we are what left to secure this homeland, 
"Come forth my soldiers" the cry of war is heard from leagues away, 
we pierce these wind-lances through their corrode hearts with wrath ,
inferno burns the heart of the city,
as we guard behind this ineluctable vile scene like a vault,
keeping these lives we call treasure hoard, 
forged iron weapons as our blades as we stand behind this door 
waiting for the beasts,  we wail our swords in valor 
but we are disdained in return, are they blind, did they not see our courage,
in the vast hall the tyrannical emperor sits proud in his throne, 
with a crown on his head, 
riven by greed he covets this land as much as we want to secure it,  
usurper we call him, his eyes instill terror to every man,
he curses the flame of war upon us, he wishes ill upon my people, 
his soldiers swim in blood, 
drinking copious amount of alcohol as celebration to our folks death,
our cerulean sea pollute as if there is sickness lies upon it, 
It gets red and darker as season changes, 
our people are driven mad by grief as we scream for mercy,
cadence they say our screams are as we cowered in terror, 
distraught by this desolation and mangling towards our kin and home,
we stifled by this thick air where no healthsome air to breathe in,
we could not foretell but we yet still survive this,
we do not linger behind shadows, stench from these shrouded victims open our eyes, 
where is the reverence we once deserved, 
bairns swear vangeance, cut the head of the snake and you shall be free from this grief.

Copyright © Cas Nana | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

From One to Another

Drench me, O God;
pour upon me the excess of the heavens!
Drown me in the blood of the clouds,
and I will fight for my country,
fight for my brothers;
fight to be worthy
of your love and your creation -
and the warrior-poets of old will be proud.

I know how to live,
to deserve the cleansing rain.
I know how to write,
and I'm learning how to fight.
But bless me with nature's sweet shower,
and I'll be like no other.

Between three and four years later,
and reading the last makes me cringe -
I do believe I'll try again.

"O God" became godless, natural sky.
"I will fight for my country" became
I will scowl a little less,
smile just a little more,
as I remember that dream now dead.
"Your love and your creation" became
the love of one I don't believe is there -
worthy of my creation being anything more than luck,
by another myth, legend, deity that never was.
"The warrior-poets of old will be proud" became
maybe the will and the writing will be enough
to assuage my forced idleness, my vitriol;
my joy at the thought of impending escape.

"I'm learning how to fight" became
they taught me how, as well as to hate.
"I'll be like no other" became
I'm no more in valiant deed, in fact less,
than so very many.

Now if I do say so myself, that's better,
or at the very least more accurate, up to date -
but I don't think that's all there is in me.

"I don't drink" became
"I drink for flavor", became "I drink".
Unknowing exuberance became knowing exhaustion,
hunger for a greater purpose became
an unprecedented yearning for the lesser.
Energy intended for discipline, strength, became
fire funneled into frustration,
ardor affixed on anger.

From one to another, such a seamless step;
but from that to another,
or even back to one,
such the strenuous sojourn.

Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Life of a No-name Extra

To glorify the leading star he obits the big named performer
with blank face in shabby clothing and for his part is so minute
it doesn’t matter whether he exists or not.

Although, he falls under the sword with gushing blood,
killed by a single gun shot without a word, or dies 
by a thrusting spear with a short groan, no one cares 
to cry for his tragic death, because he has no name, no tomb.

A day of extra’s life is to learn how to wait and to survive 
through one day at a time.  He roams around the studio patiently 
for his given day and, while roaming around the empty studio
he becomes a dim shadow under the darkening sky, 

and when the sky getting darker and darker he follows the sets 
with a moon, with the stars, to the location where the scenery 
that is to shot and glorify the big name, as the truckloads that 
move along in a long formed line.

If you spend a day in Hades, it will shorten a day of given life.  
For death is proof of the contrary to the living, and waiting game 
is the part of extra’s life, though the life seemed to be worthless, and therefore, no cast of a play is given for his sake, the extra, the leftover life, also is the existing being until he falls under the sword, killed from a single bullet, trusted to die by a spear.

Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |

Ode To Oval

*My beloved Oval, I fear that my words fall short of what I am feeling in my heart.  May you accept these few lines of love  as my best effort of expressing my concern for you. I have heard much about you, but I have yet to visit and meet you in person.  The pictures of you are rather striking and stunning.                                                                                                                                                    

It was during the 90's that I first became gravely concerned about what seemed to me, 'a tarnishing' of your office.  Circumstances surrounding your occupants caused a great deal of weeping in my soul.  It appeared as if the dark clouds of contamination were setting over you, and determined to drive out the awe and aromatic presence of your enduring reverence. Nevertheless, like the giant I always believed you to be, you came roaring back to a place of renown in the early 2000's.  And Oval, it was so good to have you back.  A new leader so deserving of your atmosphere took great lengths to restore the sacredness that was so rightfully due.  I tell you Oval, the reality of your presence and power is so pervasive that it extends far beyond your palatial walls.  For centuries you have adorned the shoulders of presidents in attire befitting their sacred trust.

Again, I stand aghast that I am observing a cloud of low regard for your office. Oval, this concern is not about presidents. More than 40 presidents have sat in your room, but you are still here.  Presently, you are the one I am concerned about. It's my duty to speak up for you at this "high tide" of divisiveness.

Oval, in closing, there are many forces parading through our country; and it appears that these opposing forces are conspiring for a 'perfect storm'.  Be advised and encouraged that much prayer is also invading the air waves.  I see indications that not only shall we prevail and survive, but we shall also thrive because of God's Good Graces and His magnanimous mercies.
09292017 PS Contest, Early October Standard, Brain Strand                                                                                                                                       Personification Form	                                                                                                             *Oval: The Oval Office in The White House

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2017